


Bits & Pieces

by quartetship



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A growing & ongoing collection of super short Klance one shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of short, unrelated Keith/Lance mini fics, written for various prompts/ship weeks/etc. No two chapters are from the same au, and can be read in any order. Please refer to chapter title and notes for context! Will be adding more as I write them.
> 
> Thank you for reading & hope you enjoy!
> 
> \--
> 
> First chapter - written as a warm up, set in any au you'd like to imagine it! 
> 
> \--

“How'd you do that?”

Keith watched a tiny, pearlescent bubble float into the air, drifting upward until it met the sharp edge of the shower tap and popped. Wide-eyed, he looked back at Lance, who was perched on the side of the tub beside him. Lance grinned. 

“What, the soap bubble? It's easy. Watch.” Lance made a ring with his thumb and forefinger, dipping it into the soapy bath water. Bringing it to his lips, he smiled and blew gently, sending another perfectly round bubble floating away. Motioning at Keith, he nodded. “Now you try.”

Keith did, and failed twice before he finally replicated Lance’s trick, but the satisfied smile on his face must have been pretty irresistible. A moment later, Lance was sliding into the water behind him, legs wrapping around Keith’s hips and overlapping Keith’s own legs, boxers still on. 

“You're still wearing clothes,” Keith frowned. He attempted to bump Lance away from him, wiggling himself backward. It had quite the opposite effect. 

“Yeah, and they’ll wash.” Lance leaned forward, arms wrapping around Keith’s bubble covered torso, trailing fingers lazily across his stomach and chest. His cold fingertips were a sharp contrast to Keith’s warm, wet skin, hot water lapping gently at them both as the splash from Lance’s entry settled. He pressed a kiss to Keith’s shoulder, laughing through his nose, hot against Keith’s neck. Keith sighed, already losing the battle against smiling at Lance's antics. 

“Speaking of which, I thought you were gonna wash my hair, mister beautician.” 

Lance nodded, pulling his hands back to thread fingers together and crack his knuckles dramatically. “Still going to, babe. Just like this angle a little better.” The grin he wore was absolutely  _ filthy. _ Keith had to look away to keep from returning it. 

“How? You can't see shit from there.”

“Don't need to.” Lance said, reaching for a bottle of shampoo. “I can  _ feel _ my way through it. M’so good I can fly blind.” Before Keith could argue, there were fingers in his hair, swirling across his scalp and leaving him  _ purring. _ He sighed, well and truly beaten. Behind him, Lance grinned. “See?”

“Yeah, yeah, magic fingers, I gotcha,” Keith hummed, letting his head fall backward into Lance’s hands. “Finish this up and maybe I'll let you feel your way through something else.” He reached behind him, fingertips hooking and tugging at the edge of Lance’s boxers to make his point. “But first you gotta take these off and wring ‘em out.”

Snorting a laugh that was edged with more than a little urgency, Lance did just that, as Keith dipped his fingers into the water again, looped them, and sent another bubble floating quietly into the air. 


	2. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance loves to kiss Keith in the strangest places.

Lance loves to kiss Keith in the strangest places. 

There isn't a day that he doesn't catch Keith completely by surprise with some odd show of affection. A kiss to the tip of his chin while Keith is looking skyward, another pressed to the bend of his knee as they lay tangled in each other’s limbs on Lance’s bed - Lance finds the most interesting places to kiss Keith. 

He always returns to the tips of Keith’s fingers, though. They are, without a doubt, his favorite place to press his lips. 

Taking the time to remove Keith’s gloves, Lance lavishes attention on every finger. Keith’s hands are small, thin but strong, steady and sure. They look fragile without the bulk of his gloves, but it only makes Lance want to kiss them that much more. 

With Keith’s warm, bony hands resting in his own, Lance rubs soothing circles over tired joints, massages aching muscles and waits for the tension there to melt away. Only then does he shift his focus to the soft, pointed tips of Keith’s fingers, studying each of them before kissing them gingerly. 

He kisses Keith’s thumb, and thinks about Keith’s determination. Though Keith isn't known for his exceedingly positive attitude, he certainly isn't one to give up, no matter what he's faced with. The flat, fleshy pad of his thumb is rough from constant use, and warm beneath Lance’s lips as he peppers it with kisses. 

He kisses Keith’s pointer finger, dwelling on the way Keith guides him forward, at times that he can't even think to move on his own. Though he refuses to be called a leader, Lance knows Keith has the potential. The slight twist of the tips of his pointer fingers remind Lance that everyone has a different view of their own path than the people around them; the way he sees Keith’s is far more beautiful than Keith could ever perceive it, himself. 

Lance kisses Keith’s middle finger, and can't help himself laughing, thinking of every time they've bickered. It's usually Lance’s fault, but Keith isn't great at resisting his goading, and they usually end up being called down by Shiro, eventually. It doesn't matter that they always promise one another that they’ll cut the other a break the next day, while lying in bed together every evening. They're always right back at it, as certain as the sunrise, and Lance can't wipe the smile off of his face, thinking about it. 

He kisses Keith’s ring finger, and thinks about the future. Traveling the universe with the other members of Team Voltron doesn't give either of them much time to dwell on thoughts of domesticity, but Lance wonders if Keith has the same dreams that he does, somewhere in the back of his mind. He wonders if Keith ever thinks about a ring on that finger, ever dreams of children climbing into his lap, or Lance’s hand clasped with his as they grow older. Maybe one day he will have the courage to ask Keith if he's ever considered any of it, but for the moment, he presses another kiss there and moves on. 

Lance kisses Keith’s pinky finger, taking his time with it. It's a reminder of just how small Keith is, how small they all are in the grand scheme of things. The digit resting against his lips makes no difference to the universe at large, and yet as tiny as his shortest finger is, Keith holds more of Lance’s world in its grasp than could ever be explained. Keith is not small, to Lance. So he moves with no urgency, lavishing love on the littlest finger on Keith’s hand before moving on. 

He presses a kiss to the center of Keith’s palm, last. Curling the fingers over to close his hand into a loose fist, Lance kisses each knuckle, making silent promises about the love he's leaving behind in Keith’s closed hand.  _ It's real, it's yours, it's unchanging, it's eternal, _ his lips say, without a sound ever leaving them. Somehow Keith seems to hear all of it, because he smiles, warm and soft and genuine, as he watches Lance, their eyes never moving from each other’s. 

Without a word, Keith pulls his hand away at last, offering the other in its place, and Lance begins, all over again.


	3. Love/Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was an honest man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of Klance Week 2016 for the prompts Love/Hate, and inspired by [this lovely artwork](https://twitter.com/Elentori/status/761637797421682689)!
> 
> \--

Lance was an honest man. 

Sincere, often to a fault, there was seldom an instance in which Lance didn't tell a person exactly what he was thinking. It made talking to people easier; with no need to filter himself, he never ran short of words. Lance said what he meant and meant every bit of what he said. 

So when he settled behind Keith after a long day of training and grumbled into his ear about just how much he despised every tiny, distracting little thing about him, Lance was only being himself. He was just being honest. 

“I hate your mullet,” he huffed, frowned at the way the ends of Keith’s hair fluttered as he did. Letting his head fall forward, Lance noticed the collar of the shirt Keith wore - one of Lance’s own - falling slightly to the side, letting show a glimpse of pale, porcelain skin marked by the fading bruises of love bites, past. Lance nosed against them as he stretched a leg out to either side of Keith, whining as his sore muscles fought him all the way. Amused, Keith flashed him a tired smile, and those unfairly lovely violet eyes. 

Lance groaned,  _ pained _ by how pretty they were. 

“And your stupid, pretty eyes,” he added to his list of complaints. Keith hummed, nodding as he scooted back into Lance’s lap. 

“S’at all?” He chuckled, a bright, musical sound, and Lance sighed in reply. 

“And your dumb laugh.” He could feel Keith smiling smugly, well aware that Lance was enamored with all of that and more. Pulling Lance’s arms around him, he rocked gently in place, until they were wrapped up in one another entirely. 

It would be a while before either of them spoke again, and undoubtedly Keith would tease him for being so easily distracted during training all day. But it wasn't Lance’s fault; Keith and all of his annoying, aggravating,  _ adorable _ little quirks made it impossible to think about anything else, even with a bayard in his hand or a helmet on his head. Lance really  _ did _ hate all of those things about Keith, because he  _ loved _ them all so much they made it hard to function. 

But he didn't need to clarify that to Keith. Somehow, by the grace of whatever higher power might have brought them together, Keith seemed to understand Lance’s frustration, seemed to  _ get it. _ Because as he wrapped arms tighter around him and squeezed, Lance heard him bubble with yet another soft, satisfied laugh, before whispering, “I love you, too.”


	4. Recognize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd recognize that mullet anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a warm up and inspired by [this gorgeous artwork](https://twitter.com/_cattchi/status/748730443499868161)!
> 
> \--

“I'd recognize that mullet anywhere.”

It wasn’t something Lance admitted to lightly, but he'd always been at least mildly obsessed with Keith’s hair. 

From staring at his shaggy, black strands from a few rows back in classes, to watching the boy with dark, shiny hair being escorted off of the garrison base, Keith’s mullet was a familiar sight in Lance’s life. He chalked it up to the fact that he considered Keith his rival; he could never understand why girls seemed to be forever looking at him as he passed while they never gave Lance himself the same treatment. He figured he was justified in knowing what his arch nemesis looked like from every angle, so he could be prepared at every turn, like Keith always seemed to be. 

But that wasn't where it ended. 

There were also the dreams that he kept to himself. They came mostly at night, after stressful days of training and tests, sleepy fantasies of running hands through soft, black hair, of tangling his fingers there and pulling. Sometimes he even daydreamed about it, distracted by the hair he so often saw in his sleep, mind wandering after visions of it, fanned around Keith as he lay beneath Lance, looking up at him, flushed and smiling…

Lance’s eyes snapped open, realizing he was doing just that, imagining himself elsewhere. Only this time he was not in class, where daydreaming was acceptable. Instead, he was sitting at a table in a castle-turned-spaceship, with eyes beginning to fall on him as the others realized he hadn't been paying attention. And the eyes that were fixed most firmly on him? 

They were veiled by wisps of dark hair, a fringe flipped away by the turn of Keith’s head as he glared in Lance’s direction. Lance swallowed, pulling himself up straighter in his seat. 

“You gonna be okay?” Hunk asked, momentarily stealing Lance’s attention away from Keith staring back at him. Lance nodded, sucking in a sharp breath and looking down the table at Allura, straight ahead. No one else spoke to him directly, and he was fine with that. A moment later, his mind was wandering yet again. 

Why did it always return to the same place, the same dark head of hair that he found himself so fixated on? What was so fascinating about a stupid mullet that his brain wouldn't let him live in peace without constant thoughts of it? He didn't know, but he hoped that one day he would figure it out, before his hands got the better of him, and his dreams became more than fantasies. 


	5. Red & Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you crying, mullet man?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Klance Week 2016 for the prompts 'Red & Blue' and inspired by [this gorgeous artwork](https://twitter.com/emuyhn/status/761069013388496901)!
> 
> \--

“Are you… Are you crying, mullet man?”

Even as life began to leave him, Lance laughed. It was every bit the warm, bouncing sound that Keith had grown fond of, but missing was the usual volume, the usual strength. Those things were fading, along with Lance himself. 

“Lance, come on, get up,” Keith murmured, fear and shock threatening to silence him. “Just get up, I'll help you walk. If we can get back to the red lion, we can get you back to the castle, to a healing pod. It’ll be fine, just…” He trailed off as Lance raised a hand, gloved fingers raking softly through Keith’s hair. Through blood and bruise, he smiled up at Keith, shaking his head. 

“Not this time, buddy. You're gonna have to just go.” His thumb smeared through the surfacing blood of a cut on Keith’s cheek, wiped at tears that refused to stop falling. “Tell Blue I said I'm sorry. Same with the others.”

“No. I won't go.” Keith said numbly. He stared down at Lance, wide eyed and paralyzed. “I’m not - you can't just--”

“Have to,” Lance said simply, stroking Keith’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, red ranger. Glad I got a little time to tour the universe with you.”

Keith bit down hard on his lip to stop it quivering, tasting blood. “Lance, please.” He whispered, the salt of his tears hot on his tongue every time his lips parted. “I  _ just  _ found you - please don't go.”

Lance gave him a smile, a wide and wonderful grin and a soft squeeze against his cheek before his eyes went glassy. His lashes fluttered, and Keith’s heart with them, faltering in his chest as he battled to keep hope alive. But a quiet moment, a deep, contented sigh, and Lance was gone, perfectly still save for the falling of his hand to his side. 

Keith swallowed, sniffed, choking on the sob that escaped him. Taking Lance’s hand in both of his, Keith willed it to move again, wordlessly pled with Lance to sit up, take a breath, make a sound, do  _ something.  _ But there was nothing, only silence and stillness, as a suit of scuffed and tarnished red armor came to rest against a blue one in a clattering thump. Keith cried into Lance’s shoulder, forgetting where they were, where he needed to go, what he had even been  _ doing  _ before Lance had slipped away. 

The lights around them, glowing in hues of red and blue, bled together into shades of violet, and Keith closed Lance’s eyes, and then his own.


	6. Heaven & Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up, Keith never believed in heaven or hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Klance Week 2016 for the prompts 'Heaven/Hell' and inspired by [this amazing artwork](http://petnursy.tumblr.com/post/148536035785/klanceweek-day-3-hell-h-e-a-v-e-n)!
> 
> \--

Growing up, Keith never believed in heaven or hell. 

It didn't make much sense to him. Spending eternity in one place, and expecting it to be entirely good, or irredeemably bad? He dismissed it as a fairy tale for people whose minds only thought in extremes, only pictured things in shades of black and white. 

Lightyears from home and months outside of every memory he had of a normal life on earth, though, Keith’s view of life began to change. Good and evil, happiness and sorrow - all of it became clearer, easier to see and sort apart through eyes that had been opened. Moments of joy became sweeter, while moments of sadness were more bitter than they had ever been. 

Never was that more true than when he realized he'd lost his hold on his heart. 

Lance was nothing that Keith had ever expected to love. He was boisterous and loud, with no filter for his thoughts and emotions that hung from the hems of his sleeves. He was Keith’s foil, in many ways, and despite the ringing in his ears that their every collision left him with, Keith soon found himself growing fond of Lance’s presence. 

He had finally found something he would be happy to linger in, forever. 

So with a thick pane of crystalline glass between them, Keith felt the cold of the other extreme. In stories, hell was always detailed as a lake of fire, burning and smoking and inescapably hot, but in his experience it was none of that. It was a cool and quiet room, softly lit by blue light, with his own personal heaven broken and expressionless, unaware of his proximity, asleep on the other side of a wall that Keith had no choice but to look through, and wait. 

Just a few more ticks, the princess had promised him. Those were always her words; Lance landed in the recovery pods more often than any of the other paladins, so a dismissive ‘few more ticks’ was something Keith heard with equal frequency. But he had lost count of how many it had already been, this time, and after living in the warm light of heaven’s ambient glow, every moment standing there without it felt like ages. Still, he waited, and on the other side of the glass heaven healed, as it always did. 

Keith had always wondered at how people could live their lives, let decades pass them fruitlessly, with the promise of receiving paradise at the end of their lives. But in that moment, sliding to the floor and settling in to wait as long he had to, he understood. Counting ticks in the cold, quiet recovery room, he waited patiently for heaven’s return. 


	7. Bandaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has no right to look so good, banged up and bruised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one shot is based on [this artwork](https://twitter.com/Tsukihii_/status/772251315049226240) by [Tsukihii](https://twitter.com/Tsukihii_). Thank you for the inspiration! 
> 
> Enjoy, friends!
> 
> \--

Keith has no right to look so good, banged up and bruised. 

Lance scowls after him as they strip out of their armor, hang I hear back on hooks and letting their lions power down for a bit of rest. Everyone is chattering, a congratulatory buzz in the air as they all settle in for a meal and a good sleep after a battle hard won. It's the typical evening scene, in the castle of lions, but Lance’s mind is in one part of the castle, specifically. 

He trails Keith down to the med bay, where Coran is already waiting. 

“Do you feel like you’ll need a healing pod, paladin?” Coran chirps, and Keith shakes his head. Impatiently, he lets Coran bandage his face, and only when Coran spies Lance over his shoulder - silently hovering a few yards back - does Keith turn to notice him as well. Lance swallows, stepping forward. 

“Just coming to check on you,” he says, as cool as he can manage. Keith nods, obviously unconvinced. It seems enough of an explanation for Coran, though. He offers Lance a patching up of his own, just a few bandages, and then he's heading for dinner, reminding the paladins that they should hurry along as well. 

Lance has other priorities. 

He plops down onto an examination bench and waits, watching Keith. It's not even a breath later that Keith is stepping into his space, tentatively reaching for him. Hands come to rest on his knees as Lance places fingers gingerly on Keith’s shoulders, careful not to squeeze. The day hasn't treated either of them kindly. 

“You okay there, Red?” He asks, despite the fact that he knows what Keith will say. Predictably, Keith nods, looking Lance over with a strange mix of concern and desire, and Lance’s skin feels hot under his gaze. 

“M’fine. You? Coran saw your cuts from across the room.” He frowns, and Lance can't help mirroring him. Keith has the world’s prettiest smile, and when it's gone, Lance finds it increasingly hard to smile, himself, the longer they're together. 

“Because he was thinkin’ about it, taking care of all your bumps and bruises. Didn't even ask me about the pod thing.”

“Only ‘cause he knows you'd ask for one, if you needed it.” Keith says flatly, but his hands are sliding up Lance’s thighs as he leans further into his space. Lance huffs through his nose.

“Unlike your stubborn ass. S’why you have all those cuts and shit, you know. You don't know how to pull back and finesse it.”

Keith doesn't smile, but the edges of his voice are laced with laughter as he speaks, leaning in further still. “Mm. Okay. Well maybe you can teach me.”

“Maybe I can,” Lance murmurs, nearly against Keith’s lips, as he lets his arms loop around Keith’s neck and pulls him forward, closing the gap between them at last. Lips press together and soft sighs break the mounting tension, as the pain and stiffness of the day melts away for a fraction of a moment. Lance wouldn't admit to it aloud, but this is the very best part of saving the universe - having someone to congratulate him afterward, if only in private. 

When they part Lance licks his lips, savoring the moment for a split second longer as he watches Keith do the same, trailing eyes over all of his face. Finally he smiles, a brief flash of teeth before a chuckle as Keith pulls him to his feet. 

“You look ridiculous, like that,” he says, and Keith rolls his eyes, mumbling something about Lance looking just as stupid, but whatever he says only sounds like affectionate cooing to Lance’s ears. Fingers linked until the last set of doors that lead out into the dining area part, they walk together quietly, Lance smiling down at the floor to keep from staring at Keith. 

He really has no right to look so good, bandaged and bruised, but as they sit down to dinner with the others, Lance decides it might be better if he doesn't argue that particular point. 


	8. Softness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Keith's hands were not accustomed to softness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the artwork of [Cata](https://twitter.com/cissilian), originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/cissilian/status/777546357045358592).
> 
> \--

Keith’s hands were not accustomed to softness. 

Growing up, the stuttered routine of hopping from group home to foster home and back again left little room for clinging to comfort. There were no hugs from a mother, no gentle squeezes from a father, no kisses on the forehead from relatives distant or near. The rigidity of his unpredictable upbringing had little give and even less pause for warmth, so Keith grew cold and distant as he grew into an adult. 

The garrison was a welcome change of scenery, but he did not enter it expecting to find shelter. Keith was there to learn, to find a path for himself that would ensure a future that was more stable, but he dared not hope that it would be any softer. Even in bed at night, Keith grew used to wearing half his uniform, terrified of letting himself relax too much, a lesson learned at far too tender an age. 

Too much comfort meant too much pain, when it inevitably ended. 

When Shiro left and the Kerberos mission failed, he was reminded of that rule again. He had let himself become far too fond of Shiro, to lean on him like the brother he had never had, and now he would never have him there to lean on again. It served him right, he figured. Lashing out at his instructors hadn't been an intentional result of the pain he shouldered because of it, but it made as much sense as any other reaction would have, then. Nothing would bring Shiro back, and Keith had nothing left to care about. 

Booted from the military before he even reached eighteen, Keith was left to fend fully for himself, with no home and no family to return to. He celebrated the dawn of his adulthood in a creaking wooden shack, miles from anything that resembled comfort. But then, Keith had always lived far from that. 

Landing in the lap of Voltron was just one more bump in a road that refused to lie flat before him. Shiro was back in his life, but Keith’s chest ached every time Shiro looked his way, the warmth and familiarity mostly gone from his gaze. Shiro was damaged by his captivity with the Galra, and Keith could do nothing to help him heal from it, least of all provide him with comfort. That would have taken experience with it himself, and Keith knew next to nothing about it. 

So he pushed on as he always did, nose to the grindstone and eyes ever forward, focused on getting wherever they were next supposed to be. The others spoke of finishing the task at hand, of going home, but Keith didn't know what that would even mean for him. Between missions he trained, he studied, he slept, and he kept moving, afraid to relax for even a moment too long. 

Maybe he had always been on a collision course with intervention. Maybe the way he lived his life - too hard, too fast, too cold for comfort - was inevitably going to land him in a bind, but he never stopped to worry about it. But when he finally met his match, it wasn't a fight, and Keith was wholly unprepared for anything else. 

When comfort caught up to him, it was a warm smile and a loud laugh, and a joke that left him laughing in spite of himself. When softness finally found him, it was in the touch of beautiful, brown skin and the delicate tracing of fingers that were unexpectedly perfect at melting away the tension from his tired body. When Keith was finally able to relax, it was leaning against Lance McClain, the least likely person in the universe to make a good first impression. But it was the impression he made on Keith over time that made all the difference in his life. 

For the first time, Keith found solace and shelter in the arms of another person. As never before, he reached for someone else, actually _sought out_ Lance’s presence and lingered in it, from lazy midday naps to kisses exchanged between heavy, heated breaths long after the midnight hour. Keith had never been in love before, and he worried that he'd let himself fall too far, too fast. But when he sidled up behind Lance and wrapped arms low around his waist, the skin of Lance’s hips warm beneath his hands, he found it hard to think of anything else but the softness he felt. 

Lance made it okay to be comfortable, okay to long for rest, for peace. Keith still had no idea what home was really supposed to feel like, but he wagered it might resemble the soft sounds of Lance’s sighs as Keith pressed lips to his neck, breathing in the scent of something familiar - something stable. Never had Keith imagined he mind find what he'd been lacking his entire life in the depths of space with a person like Lance, and yet he could hardly keep his hands to himself long enough to imagine them empty, any longer. 

His hands were not accustomed to softness, but when he found it, he could not imagine life without it, ever again. 


End file.
